


And They Were Roommates

by xanderwilde



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Crack, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I have no idea what this is about sorry, I'll add more tags later, Jervis is the self-appointed dad, Jonathan is literally insane, No Slash, Not really any clear plot tbh, except maybe Jerome whoops, just fun times with the squad, just the crazy bois being domestic, no one is a murderer, they put the fun in dysfunctional, this doesn't tie in to the show at all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:39:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xanderwilde/pseuds/xanderwilde
Summary: “There are two of you?” Jervis asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. The newest addition to the trio, Jerome, climbed onto the counter and swung his legs against the cabinets below. “You’re both my roommates?”“The whole gang.” Jerome nodded cheerfully. “Hi, by the way. Hope you don’t mind that there’s a dead cat under your bed. Jonny was working on an experiment in there the other day.”“Jerome, you can’t just go around telling everyone about my work!” Jonathan yelled, then turned to Jervis. “It’s preserved. You won’t smell a thing.”Gotham AU where the J Squad (Jerome, Jervis, and Jonathan) are roommates and everything goes about as well as expected.





	And They Were Roommates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh I keep seeing text posts with these three as dysfunctional friends and wanted to write an AU fic with them as roommates so...yeah. 
> 
> And yes, the title's a vine reference, I couldn't help myself.

Jervis Tetch breathed a sigh of relief as he set down his suitcase outside the door of his new apartment and fumbled for the key in his pocket. _Home at last._

He’d been uncertain about moving to Gotham—the only apartment he’d been able to afford with his diminutive payroll was located just outside the Narrows, the part of the city where regulations were ignored and it was rare to find someone who _wasn’t_ trying to kill you—but the place wasn’t as bad as he’d envisioned.

Sure, the receptionist at the front desk had more prison tattoos than he’d been able to count and what looked like a once-rabid corpse of a lap dog lounging on the desk (Jervis had been surprised when it had moved; he’d counted on it being dead, but no, it was just as alive as its ex-con owner), the carpet on the way up the stairs to his apartment looked like it had been chewed, water stained, and set on fire at different points in time, and the door he was currently standing in front of (number 68) had apparently been kicked open one too many times, if the scuff marks adorning the entire bottom half were any indication, but it was better than nothing.

He finally retrieved the key he’d dropped into his coat pocket and stuck it in the lock, shouldering his duffel bag and reaching for the handle of his suitcase as he swung the door open. Stepping inside the dim apartment, he was greeted by a cardboard slab covering one of the windows, something that looked suspiciously like a rat scuttling across the floor in a shadowy corner, and a floor so covered in dust that it could have been carpeted for all he knew. 

But, Jervis told himself, in an effort to remain cheerful, at least there was furniture in this place already, and that was a plus. Better than sleeping on the floor, in any case. The kitchen was as fully furnished as a kitchen in this apartment complex would be expected, and there was a matching couch and overstuffed armchair in the other corner, which resembled little more than faint shadows in the badly lit room.

He switched on the light as he ventured further into the apartment, and as they flickered slowly on, he stopped short.

There was a man sleeping on the couch, the remains of a half-eaten pizza still in the box sitting on his chest as one arm draped over the edge, dangling half an inch above the sea of dust that covered the floor. His stringy brown hair fell over his eyes, and he probably would have gone on sleeping like that for hours if Jervis hadn’t cleared his throat nervously. The man shot up, looking around with wide, disoriented eyes, and Jervis realized “man” wasn’t quite the right category…he was just a kid, probably no older than nineteen and, if the look on his face was any indication, incredibly stoned.

“Uh,” Jervis said, not sure what would be the proper way to start a conversation with someone whose apartment he’d apparently broken into by accident. The kid finally looked at him, groping around for another slice of pizza before flopping back down in the couch.

“If you’re gonna steal anything,” he mumbled, and Jervis knew he was _definitely_ stoned, “go somewhere else. There’s nothin’ here.”  
“I can see that.” he replied, looking around before turning back to the stranger. “Um, sorry for intruding, but I was given the key to this apartment, so I naturally assumed…”

“Yeah, this is the right one.” the kid interrupted, rubbing a hand over his eyes and reaching for the television remote that sat on the ground beside his hand. He clicked on the ancient TV in the middle of the room, and the faint static-corrupted music of an old cartoon rattled through the speaker. He jerked a thumb toward the closed door on the other side of the room. “You can put your stuff in there. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.”

Jervis was thoroughly confused at this point. “There must be a misunderstanding. The man at the reception desk gave me the wrong key. Maybe I was supposed to be in—”

“Oh, you met Eduardo?” the boy broke in again. “Did you see the thing he calls a poodle slinking around? I don’t know how that creature is still alive. Looks like it was used for target practice at some stage in its life.”

“You mean the receptionist?”

He laughed. “No, stupid, the receptionist isn’t the poodle. What kinda moron…”

Jervis decided it was better to not pursue the subject. What he really wanted to know was why this stranger was sitting on _his_ couch in _his_ apartment he’d been given a key for. “As I was saying,” he redirected the conversation, “I think I’m in the wrong place. I’d better go back and ask—”

“No, you’ve got it right.” the boy insisted, taking an inhumanly large bite out of his pizza and sticking out his free hand as a means of introduction. “I’m Jonathan Crane, but you can call me Jon. Just don’t call me Jonny, I hate that name. I’m your roommate.”

Jervis blinked owlishly, not quite understanding. “Um,” he began, “I don’t think that’s right.”

“Nope, it is.” Jonathan insisted. “Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“No one did.” He was going to have to live with a roommate now, moreover _this_ person? Nothing had been more unappealing to Jervis in his whole life.

“Yeah, that’s why rent’s so cheap.” the other shrugged. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I do, actually.” Jervis said loftily, tossing the key onto the dented side table that teetered on three legs beside the couch. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go ask for an apartment _without_ unwanted company.”

Jonathan yawed. “You won’t find one here. And not for a price like this.”

“Well, what would _you_ suggest?” 

“Maybe staying at the place you’ve paid for?” he offered. “Trust me, it’s not that bad. You’ve just got to get used to it.”

If this was what he had to get used to, Jervis didn’t want to, but he didn’t have any other option at the moment, and he didn’t want to get into an argument with the receptionist. Not when the man looked like he broke skulls for a living. With a long-suffering sigh, he dragged his bags to the bedroom, opening the door and stuffing everything inside. He stopped in the doorway.

“Jonathan.”

“What?” his companion garbled around a mouthful of pizza.

“You said you’re sleeping on the couch, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So why,” he gestured to the room beyond, “are there two beds in here?”

“Oh, that’s Jerome’s.” Jonathan said offhandedly. Jervis stared.

“I’m sorry, who now?”

Before either of them could speak, the front door flew open and a boy about Jonathan’s age, with unruly red hair and a neon green t-shirt that had something suspiciously like bloodstains on it barreled in, slamming the door behind him. He was holding a switchblade in one hand and his face looked like he’d just been used as a punching bag. “You shoulda seen this fight, Jonny boy!” Jonathan cast a dead-eyed expression at him, clearly not interested in the least. “They’ll be sorry they ever tried to cross me, I’m telling you. They were all like, _stop bringing knives, this is a fist fight,_ and I was like—”

“Jerome.” Jonathan said sternly, nodding at Jervis. The redhead stared at the newcomer, then grinned, wincing as he gingerly prodded at his busted lip. He tossed the knife at the wall, where the blade stuck into the cracked plaster, the handle reverberating, and breezed into the kitchen, digging through the freezer until he found an ice pack, which he held to the side of his face as he kept staring at Jervis. The latter stared back.

“There are two of you?” Jervis asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach. The newest addition to the trio, Jerome, climbed onto the counter and swung his legs against the cabinets below. “You’re _both_ my roommates?”

“The whole gang.” Jerome nodded cheerfully. “Hi, by the way. Hope you don’t mind that there’s a dead cat under your bed. Jonny was working on an experiment in there the other day.”

“Jerome, you can’t just go around telling everyone about my work!” Jonathan yelled, then turned to Jervis. “It’s preserved. You won’t smell a thing.”

“It’s the principle of the matter.” Jerome continued, unfazed. “Maybe he has a problem sleeping on top of a dead body.”

“Okay, when you say it like _that,_ you make it sound like—”

“But you can just put it under mine. If you don’t like that sort of thing.” Jerome told Jervis comfortingly, pressing the ice pack to one black eye. “And anyway, there’s not much of the actual cat left anymore.”

“I _swear,_ Jerome, I will staple your mouth closed if you don’t shut up.” Jonathan snapped. Jerome winked at him.

“Ooh, kinky. I like it.”

With a despairing roll of his eyes, Jonathan addressed Jervis. “We’ll move the cat. And don’t worry, the sheets are clean.”

“Yeah, he didn’t put any dead stuff on it.” Jerome chimed in, then broke off when Jonathan shot him a threatening glare.

Jervis shook his head. “This is not what I was expecting when I arrived at this apartment. At all.”

“Well, what did you expect?” Jonathan asked with a raised eyebrow, polishing off the last of the pizza. Jerome tilted his head at Jervis, waiting for his response.

“Living alone.” he said shortly.

Jerome seemed to find that hilarious. Between giggles, he managed to get out, “Buddy, what sorta uptown fancy-pants livin’ were you thinking of doing?”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ unreasonable of an expectation.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. You’ve signed the contract, you’re stuck with us for at least a month.” Jonathan smiled humorlessly. “You’re welcome.” He turned his attention to Jerome, still perched on the counter. “Go wash the blood off your clothes before it stains. Bleach pen’s in there.” He pointed to the bedroom.

“I think it adds character.” The redhead surveyed his shirt, which, upon closer inspection by Jervis, _did_ have blood on it. Jonathan was unamused.

“Yeah, well, I’m not your maid, so do it yourself.”

“Jonny—” he began in a voice that was pitched between a plea and a whine, and Jonathan threw the TV remote at his head. Jerome caught it deftly. “Ugh, fine. I’ve got to do _everything_ around here.” Dragging his feet, he slouched off to the darkness of the other room. Jonathan called after him,

“Maybe stop picking fights with everyone, then.”

Jervis heard Jerome imitating the other’s voice behind his back as he began rifling through the chest of drawers in the bedroom. He wasn’t sure what to think about any of this. But Jonathan was right…he'd signed the lease, and was stuck here for the duration of the month.

_If they’re like this all the time, I’m going to go insane._ he thought dismally as he watched Jonathan nod off again, face-first into the empty pizza box, and listened to Jerome singing what was possibly the most off-key rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” he’d ever heard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Hate it? Don't care? Let me know in the comments!


End file.
